


thanks for breakfast

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [140]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Dean, F/M, Kitchen Sex, Roommates, mentions of destiel too but it's a poly thing it's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: After stuffing his face and putting away the butter and syrup, Dean plates the extra pancakes that he made, ready to put them away when the one floorboard in the hallway right before the kitchen squeaks.“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”“It’s fine.” Hannah tells him, pushing past him to pull the milk out of the fridge. She drinks right from the carton before putting it back. This, right here, this is why Dean has his own milk carton and he labels it.





	thanks for breakfast

Dean likes doing the cooking. Don’t tell anyone else that, but he’s a lot handier around the kitchen than his two roommates are. At least Cas seems to appreciate what he cooks. Hannah is, well they’re step-siblings and a lot of the times Dean almost thinks of them as twins, but Hannah tends to isolate herself more.

It’s cool. They do their own things. They’re both respectful roommates who pay their share of rent on time and keep communal spaces tidy. Dean has no problem with either of them.

He might be fucking both of them - and he’s pretty sure both of them know - but that does not at all sway his habits towards them.

Dean would cook for anyone.

Really.

It’s not a romantic thing.

So when Cas goes to his early shift at the Gas n’ Sip at the ungodly hour of five fucking a.m., a full hour before Dean even wakes up, he scales back his breakfast and tries to cook just enough for himself. Hannah generally does not get out of bed before eight o’clock. But he always ends up with extras. Pancakes don’t really re-heat well in the microwave, but, who can say no to chocolate chip pancakes.

After stuffing his face and putting away the butter and syrup, Dean plates the extra pancakes that he made, ready to put them away when the one floorboard in the hallway right before the kitchen squeaks.

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine.” Hannah tells him, pushing past him to pull the milk out of the fridge. She drinks right from the carton before putting it back. This, right here, this is why Dean has his own milk carton and he labels it.

Hannah pushes him back against the kitchen counter and leans against him.

“Someone had good dreams, huh?”

Dean loops his arms loosely around her waist and slumps down, cranes his head to the side.

Hannah groans, lips dragging over his skin, her fingernails prickling as she pushes his boxers down and squeezes his ass.

“You made breakfast for me.”

“Usually do.”

“I appreciate it.”

Dean widens his stance, pulls Hannah between his legs. “You don’t usually eat it.”

“It’s a nice gesture.”

Dean hums and strokes up her back, works his hands under the loose gray sleep tank she wears and spreads his hands across her smooth skin.

“Someone’s frisky.”

“I think I might be PMS’ing. I get very horny right before my period.”

“You know I’m always here to help.”

Pulling back, Dean winks at her. He’s smiling, full of tasty pancakes and it’s his day off so he can fuck around as long as he likes. Hannah stares at him. It used to be unnerving. She’s not the best with facial expression. But she definitely gets her point across when she shoves a hand down his boxers and starts stroking him to hardness.

“Mm, wanna take this to my bedroom?”

Cupping her face gently, Dean kisses her, rocks his hips into her hold and pushes his hands back through her sleep messy hair.

“No,” Hannah tells him. Drops to her knees, she pulls his fucking boxers down with her, and swallows down his cock like it’s what’s for breakfast.

“Shit, yeah, ok.”

Gripping onto the edge of the counters, Dean leans back and let’s Hannah do what she wants. She usually tells him what to do, and he has no problem with that. None at all.

Hot and wet and right to the point, Hannah squeezes a hand gently around his balls as she works down on his cock, sucking as she bobs and massaging her tongue with this sweet pressure that just undoes Dean.

He’s almost there, so so so close, when Hannah pulls off.

“Is that enough foreplay?”

“Shit, sweetheart, that could be the main event.”

Dean is breathy and dazed; he gets a little turned around by her.

“No. Not yet.”

Standing fluidly, she pulls her tank top off, no bra underneath and her tits are a work of art that belong in a museum. Hannah steps the two steps back to the kitchen table where Dean was just eating pancakes and god it is unsanitary but she lays on her back with her legs spread and feet rested on the table edge and he knows, by know they’ve talked about it a lot - all three of them - that she is satisfied with the birth control she takes and Deans’ word, and she’s just, she’s right there offering herself to him, fingers teasing at her clit when Dean doesn’t get the program, and yeah. Man, he’s not stupid.

Bracing his hands on the table beside her head, Dean bends down to kiss her as he presses inside, and Hannah folds her legs around his waist to pull him closer. She just, gets like that sometimes. She wants what she wants when she wants.

Really, Dean has no problem giving it to her.

Sliding into the slick of her heat, Dean drags a hand down her curves and presses it between her back and the table, hauling her up and a little closer, fucks into her as she gasps and rubs her clit, heels digging into the small of his back.

Dark wavy hair fanning around her head, an orange falls out of the fruit bowl and rolls to the floor, kitchen table juddering as it slams against the wall but all Dean listens to is the pitch of her voice as it grows quieter, halting, eyes squeezed shut and he keeps at it until he feels her start to shake under him, silence breaking into a long stuttered moan and Dean lets go right after. Fucks into the clutch of her body as her hands come up to his arms and squeeze, bright blue eyes watching him and her cheeks are pink, and this. Dean can read this, he can understand this.

They wash the table. Thoroughly. Well. Dean washes it as Hannah leans against the counter, naked, eating cold pancakes with her bare hands like a heathen.

“Thank you for breakfast.”

Of course, that’s what she thanks him for.

“Hey, what are roommates for.”


End file.
